


Line of Sight

by orangecrow



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Car Sex, Exhibitionism, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1216189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangecrow/pseuds/orangecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris Argent is a hapless voyeur, victim to the exhibitionism of Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Line of Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, but this went without a beta reader. All mistakes are mine.

Chris Argent shifts his grocery bags to one hand and fumbles his keys from his pocket before opening the front door to the apartment. He kicks the door shut behind him once he’s through and pauses for a moment, looking around.

The place still seems new to him, though he and Allison have been living here for several months now. He supposes that, if he really thinks about it, they hadn’t lived in the house for that much longer. Everything is different now.

It's smaller, naturally. All of their belongings shoved into a quarter, if that, of the square footage. Everything except Victoria’s things - she’d been a practical woman above all else, and sentimentality didn’t make much sense, in her case. Narrow hallways and dark wood made the whole apartment seem darker than the house. Trust his realtor to be unintentionally appropriate. In some small way he doesn’t like to admit, however, Chris does like the new place. He likes the quiet dark of it. It’s these sorts of places that birth new starts.

He hauls the groceries into the kitchen and puts the milk, cold cuts, and carrots in the fridge. He leaves the rest on the counter for the moment and heads back down the hallway toward his office. He needs to finalize some paperwork for a sale to the police department. Hand on the office door, he pauses when he sees a shadow cross the beam of sunlight left on the hallway floor by the windows in Allison’s room. He hesitates before stepping away from his door and further down the hall. His relationship with his daughter had been strained lately, to say the least. He’s trying.

Chris freezes when he realizes that Allison isn’t the one casting shadows. Through the cracked door, he spies the Stilinski kid pressed up against Derek Hale. The teenager has his back turned toward the door, hands out of sight. Though, if the hand groping the kid’s ass was any indication, Chris can guess where they are. He wonders how the hell a werewolf’s gotten into his apartment again. If any part of him could focus, he’d wonder why he isn’t more furious at the intrusion. Instead, he finds his throat dry, and it clicks quietly when he swallows.

Hale’s eyes lift and meet his, bright blue. He grabs possessively at the boy and leans down, sucking a mark into his neck over top of a mole. The kid moans in response and Chris knows he needs to break this up. His feet won’t move though, and his voice won’t work. So he stands captive to the scene framed perfectly by the door left conveniently ajar. The beginnings of arousal coil in his belly, tangling with the shame and rage already there.

Moments drag by, and when Hale licks at the mark he’s made, leaving beard burn along Stilinski’s collarbone, he smirks at Chris, grin playing teasingly at his lips and flashing dull teeth. Chris inhales sharply and finally lifts a hand, electrified, when the front door opens.

“Stiles is already here. You brought your laptop, right? I should have everything else – glue, markers, whatever,” his daughter says. Chris turns away from the scene and looks down the hall, startled. He turns back and Hale is gone. Stilinski is sitting on the floor, face flushed. He looks up at Chris through the gap in the door and his lips curl up minutely before he zips up his hoodie, in an attempt to cover up the marks. Chris hates himself for it a little bit, but his face heats in response and he turns away with a cough.

“Oh, hey Dad. I’m having some classmates over to work on an English project,” Allison greets him with a brilliant smile. He smiles back and nods to the girl standing behind his daughter.

“I might go out for burgers after. You don’t have anything planned for dinner, do you?” She knew he didn’t.

“Just be home before ten.” He does his best to sound firm. She nods, dragging her classmate by the hand into her bedroom, where Stilinski still sat, bookbag in his lap. They all exchange pleasantries and the older man notes when Stiles’s hoodie flops to one side on his neck.

Chris goes back to his study, but he knows that he won’t finish the paperwork for the Sheriff’s department tonight.

 

 

He drops the paperwork off at the police department on Friday evening, a bit later in the day than he’d intended. They’d thanked him for his punctuality, anyway. He’s zipping up his leather coat against the night air as he starts his walk home, the apartment only a few blocks away, when he notices the Camaro.

Only a few people in Beacon Hills had a car that ostentatious. Chris’s feet move reflexively, and he approaches the car, no hesitation.

The window’s cracked, but a faint condensation fogs up the insides of the windows, anyway. Not enough to hide what’s happening inside, however. Stiles is sitting in the passenger’s seat, one hand buried in ink black hair and one hand wrapped around the headrest, knuckles white. His eyes are screwed tightly shut as a dark head, Derek’s, Chris assumes, bobs in his lap enthusiastically.

Chris has a perfect view, the low car and shoved back passenger’s seat giving him the ultimate vantage. He knows he shouldn’t appreciate it as much as he does, in the moment. He can see Stiles’s breath hitch and flinches backward when the teenager’s eyes slit open and he meets Chris’s gaze, panting and wetting wide, bitten lips with his tongue.

The boy says something to his partner. Chris is a little too far away to make out what it is. But Derek lifts up enough to catch the hunter’s eyes, too, before he ducks back down and licks a slow stripe across the head of Stiles’s cock. Chris feels his dick twitch sympathetically when Hale engulfs the brunette’s cock, mouth working down to where his fist is wrapped around the base.

Stiles jerks in response and Chris isn’t quite sure if he hits the power locks accidentally or not, because the kid’s got his eyes closed again. Even this far away, he can hear the moans coming from the car, now. His own breath stutters out and he adjusts himself in his pants.

He’s proud of himself when he turns away and doesn’t look back when he hears “Fuck! Der-“ shouted from the car behind him.

 

 

Chris almost laughs out loud when he finds a note a few days later on his desk. Never mind how it got there. It’s painfully obvious what it is. It appears innocent, under the guise of Derek Hale, requesting help with what the wolf suspects is another pack encroaching dangerously close to Beacon Hills. The hunter knows that it’s really a written request that he stop dicking around.

The note asks that he meet Hale at the loft that evening, after seven. Chris can’t remember what he does in the interim.

He knows he doesn’t need to knock when he arrives, that the action would be too much, even in the face of this charade. So he lets himself into the loft, much like, he supposes, Derek’s been letting himself into Argent’s apartment.

He’s met with a sight that shouldn’t excite him as much as it does. But he’s been looking forward to it since the note, anyway, if not before.

The Stilinski kid is on his back, diagonal across the corner of Derek’s bed at the other end of the loft. His head is flopped over the side of the bed, already staring at Chris, upside-down. Derek’s at the other side of the corner, steadily thrusting into Stiles, one of the boy’s pale legs draped around his hip. He smirks up at Argent and his hips snap forward forcefully, drawing a loud cry from the boy under him.

A chair sits near the bed, ready for him. Chris crosses into the room, eyes locked on the pair before him. Stiles had shed all of his clothes, and the fading light coming from the massive window favored his pale skin especially well. A sheen of sweat already covered the teenager, along with several noticeable bite marks. Derek hadn't managed to shed his pants. He didn't seem to care at the moment, fucking into Stiles with them halfway down his thighs, muscles in his ass tensing with each motion.

Chris stands with one hand on the chair's back, rapt, as Stilinski bites his reddened lips and flings his arm over his face for a moment, panting into the crook of his elbow. Derek looks down at Stiles and smiles faintly, sliding one of his hands from the boy's hips up to roughly thumb at a nipple. Derek looks back at Chris and adopts a more brutal pace, causing Stiles to yelp and clutch at the sheets with both hands, eyes landing back on the older man as well.

Chris's cock strains against the zip of his pants and he exhales sharply.

He sits in the chair, uncomfortable for all the wrong reasons.

"Nice of you to join us."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry that this exists. But also, I'm totally not sorry for writing this. This was actually a little bit difficult to write, despite how short it is. Getting into Chris Argent's head is difficult, and I really do think he's one of the most interesting characters the show has to offer. Hopefully the gratuitous porn is appreciated! Please feel free to comment or whatever.


End file.
